


There's Always Tea

by freckles42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Malfoy Manor, Parent Death, Post - Half-Blood Prince, graveside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckles42/pseuds/freckles42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's parents are killed and Harry understands better than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always Tea

It was raining, as always, the day that Draco buried his parents on the edge of the property of the Malfoy manor. 

“It should have been me,” he said to no one, fists clenching as he stared at the twin plaques added to the front of the family crypt. “It was _my_ fault, _my_ actions, _my_ decisions. He should have killed _me_ for my failure, not _them_.”

“It’s okay to cry for them, you know,” Harry said suddenly from Draco’s shoulder. He hadn’t been there a moment before, but the man had the annoying habit of showing up when he was least wanted. Draco hadn’t heard the crack of Apparition, which meant that Harry had popped in somewhere else on the grounds and walked up behind him without Draco noticing. That in and of itself was annoying. If Draco lost his edge, he’d be dead. He should have hexed Potter on the spot for even showing his face.

“Why are you here, Potter?” Draco bit out, not in the mood to bandy witty banter with his old schoolmate.

“My parents were killed by him, too,” Harry reminded him, shrugging and opening an umbrella over both of them. The former Slytherin tried not to be grateful for the cover.

“You and half the wizarding world,” Draco replied, harsher than he’d intended. He had been on the run for the better part of the past year, hiding from the Dark Lord whom he had failed. His right hand went to grip his left forearm as a sharp burning jolted to life. He would _not_ answer that call. He hadn’t answered it for nearly a year – and it had killed his parents. He was not going to start now.

The motion didn’t escape Harry’s notice, but he had the tact – for once – not to say anything.

“I thought you could use the company. I doubted that anyone else would come,” he said. “Especially since Snape –”

“Shut it,” Draco said, but without his usual vehemence. He hated that Harry knew him best, hated how his presence invaded his personal space. “Just – shut it, Potter. You don’t know a damn thing. You don’t know what it was like.”

Harry snorted quietly, and the rain began to fall harder. “I lived in a cupboard under some stairs until I was eleven, little more than a house-elf to the people that were supposed to be my family and _love_ me. They barely tolerated me. They mostly hated me. So I _do_ know.” He sighed and glanced over the grounds near them, leaves dripping with the rain. “Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but I think I might understand better than you’d imagine.”

Draco didn’t say anything for a long moment, continuing to stare at the crypt’s door. He didn’t turn to look at Harry, but a subtle shift in his shoulders indicated that he was ready to leave.

“I suppose if you came all this way,” he half-drawled, deliberately reminiscent of when they’d been at Hogwarts together, “that the least I could do is offer you tea.” He didn’t know what compelled him to offer anything besides a solid beating to the Boy-Who-Lived; the only thing he could think of was that years of training had taught him to be polite to guests, even if you hated them.

Harry held the brolly up a little higher and nodded as they began to make their way up the long path to the Malfoy manor.

“Tea would be wonderful.”


End file.
